


there would this monster make a man

by MovesLikeBucky



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: But it's with goo, Color Changing Scales, Implied Sexual Content, It's also really dirty, LITERALLY, Ligur is basically a mood riing, Macro/Micro, Marking, Michael and Ligur knew each other before the fall, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Tentacles, Underwater, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, You've been warned, inhuman anatomy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:26:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29326974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MovesLikeBucky/pseuds/MovesLikeBucky
Summary: A series of ficlets to serve as fills for MonsterFucker Bingo 2021.  Tags will be added as we go and chapter summaries will contain relevant tags and trigger warnings.
Relationships: (background), Beelzebub/Dagon (Good Omens), Dagon/Kraken, God/Agnes Nutter, Ligur/Michael (Good Omens), Pollution/War (Good Omens)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 19
Collections: MoFu Bingo 2021





	1. Mythical Creatures - Dagon/Kraken

**Author's Note:**

> My good friend d20owlbear started this lovely bingo game, and this is where I'll be posting my fills!
> 
> Join me as I try to write about a lot of characters who are not Aziraphale or Crowley! Cuz that's the goal!
> 
> Title is from Shakespeare's The Tempest, Act II Scene ii

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 1 - Mythical Creatures - Dagon/Kraken  
> Summary:  
> Every few centuries, Dagon is pulled back to the sea.  
> Tags: Macro/micro, tentacles, implied sexual content

Every few centuries, Dagon starts to lose the ability to breathe.

She’s a creature of the water — of the ocean, by default. So from the depths, so back to them, as they say. The gills she conceals under her scarves and collars flutter with effort, her skin goes more pallid than usual, dry and flaking.Her eyes jaundice, her breath becomes heavy.She tries to ignore it, the calling in her that pulls her to the sea.Pulls her home.

It’s Beelzebub who often insists, via knowing looks across their desks. _Go_ , Beelzebub will say, _I’ve got the paperwork for a while, do what you need to do._

They don’t talk about it, about that small measure of care.Demons don’t care about each other, but Beelzebub cares about her.Ze couches it in sneered comments about falling behind on paperwork in her state, but they both know better.Know what this really is.

Every demon carries their curse.Crawley eats dust, Hastur chokes on maggots, to each their own as they were bidden.Dagon is called to the salt of the sea, to the tides and the currents and the darkness in the depths.To the pressure that would destroy anything from the surface, anything except her.She is called, by one in particular.It has needs, too, just like she does.

Every few centuries, Dagon stands at the edge of the Pacific Ocean.She makes a pilgrimage, walking along the ocean floor, letting the salt seep into her pores and renew her.The water flows over her bare skin, tickling the minute gaps within her scales.She makes her way to where it rests, deep down in the trench, deep down close to the core of the Earth.

It gets lonely, she knows what that is like.The time has not yet come for it to realize it’s destiny.

She takes a deep breath, or what passes for one down here, gills fluttering in the deep, filtering the oxygen.The depths of darkness spill out beneath her as she steps off the edge.

She floats downward, pulled by unseen forces until there is no light left.She stays calm, knows the score, and knows what comes next.Something wraps around her ankles, a thing tendril of a thing, with an end shaped like a spade.It pulls her down faster, and she doesn’t struggle.Simply waits.

It isn’t long until the eyes come into view, as tall as herself and glowing with an eerie fluorescence.The Kraken observes her, as it always does, the tendril works it’s way higher over the bare skin of her thighs.An offering is accepted.A large tentacle, big enough to crush a sailing ship, caresses her head like a lover.It presses against her, the knobs and suckers of it pulling and pushing at her skin.She closes her eyes, loses herself in it, in the feel of being played with, being cradled and turned like a precious treasure.

It will hold her like this for days, knobs kneading at her most intimate of places even as the suckers mark red welts into her skin.It will covet her and protect her, love her as best it is able.Like one that has never really known the emotion.Suits her fine, she’s never known it either.

After the days pass it will let her go, and she’ll rise back to the surface and walk back out of the sea.She will be cold and sore, but she will be renewed.There is a shack near the water, she will retire there and sleep.

Once a full week has passed, she’ll go back to her desk.Back to her life as she knows it, as she prefers it.She will sit across from the Prince of Hell, and ze will notice one of the red marks on her neck.

 _How was it this time?_ Ze will ask.

 _Nothing remarkable_.Dagon will say.

And time will march on, as ever it does, and Dagon will flow right along with it’s tides.


	2. Goo - War/Pollution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 2 - Goo - War/Pollution
> 
> Summary:  
> Carmine and Chalky have an arrangement of their own.  
> Tags: Goo sex, general filthiness that comes with pollution, vaginal sex with goo, vaginal fingering

There’s a sizzle against her skin, where the drips fall.Deep dark pools tinged with bright white stare back at her, black ichor drips off of Chalky’s face, hits her superheated skin.It stinks of chemicals, but it smells like home.There’s ink in Chalky’s smile above her as they kiss Carmine deeply.

They don’t use their true names here.

Carmine’s teeth are sharp as Chalky’s tongue traces them, a danger inherent to them both.Carmine is a furnace, a roaring fire beneath her skin, a fire of anger and hatred but also of other things.Of passion, of determination.Of a want to please and to be pleased by the only being that can.

No one can take her heat like Chalky.No one can withstand it.

Grease smears across her pale skin from Chalky’s hands, drifting lower down her ribcage.Lower and lower to where she wants. _Please_ and _I need this_ fall from her lips, other words decidedly do not.Other words are not for them.

Chalky nips at her collarbone, Carmine grips their hair.It’s slick and oily, doesn’t feel right under her fingers but feels so right all the same.Chalky’s being is tinged with a film of something Carmine can’t quite name, and it changes with the times.Oily slick or tar, sometimes gasoline or propane depending on the vice of the capitalists of the time.Sometimes she worries that the heat of her will light the gunk of Chalky on fire and they’ll both perish in the flames.

But as Chalky’s finger circles her clit, slick and wet with something (Carmine doesn’t know what), all of those thoughts cease.They are heat and an accelerant, coming together and waiting for a spark to light them up.As Chalky’s finger dips inside of her she screams, gripping them tight with clawed hands, digging into their skin.She can feel the hot burn of her blood streaked face, red tears that roll when she loses control.Chalky’s body shifts on top of her, going at some moments solid and at others more of a plasma, enveloping her as they fuck her on their fingers, thumb rolling her clit.

When Chalky was promoted Carmine had cried.They never spoke about it, the two of them, about how their furious passions would have to be relegated to clandestine meetings after that.They weren’t to see each other again until the end of the world, when it was time to ride.They couldn’t stay away from each other; finding an all to convenient excuse in wars over oil and in nuclear degradation.Things that called to both of them, things that pulled them together like a car crash.

Chalky shifts again, inky black all that they are, covering Carmine like a blanket, pushing into her and filling her so deeply.She lets out a strangled cry as she comes, shouting Chalky’s real name despite knowing that she should not.Despite knowing what is at stake, what has always been at stake.

But Chalky shifts back, presses their lips to hers, almost gently this time.Like a lover.

And in the aftermath of all that was…maybe they can allow themselves the space for that.


	3. #monsterbottomrights - Agnes/God

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 3 - #MonsterBottomRights - Agnes/God  
> Summary:  
> The gift of prophecy is not given, but taken  
> Tags: Inhuman anatomy, Is there even anatomy?, Fingering a sentient being of light, So ostensibly there's a vulva there, Or something similar, Don't ask me.

_ agnes. _

Her name was whispered on a breath of wind that tailed through the herbs hanging in her cottage window, that sent the chimes outside tinkling in a melody that slowly stirred her from her slumber.

_ agnes. _

The voice repeated, calling her like an old friend, something in it made her breathe faster, made her squirm in her modest bed. Something carried on it, something light and bright and wanting.

_ agnes, hear me now. _

At that her eyes shot open. Her whole cottage was flooded with glittery golden light concentrated around one shape in the middle. Kaleidoscope eyes, innumerable ones, trained on her and watched her with what she recognized as anticipation.

_ there you are, agnes,  _ the being said whisper soft but with barely disguised intention.  _ i have a proposition for you, dear girl. behold me, and do not be afraid. _ The figure extended what seemed to be arms in an opening and inviting gesture. There was a warmth emanating from them, and Agnes swayed towards it where she sat before coming back to her senses.

“Me? What would ye want with me? Who are ye?”

_ my child,  _ the being said with a smile in its voice,  _ i am the one who created the universe. _

_ “ _ Oh dear Jesus,” Agnes said, quickly jumping from her bed. She pushed her witching implements into cupboards, rolled up her scrolls - though why, she didn’t know. This was the Lord God Almighty, they would already know of her transgressions and her attempts at learning witchcraft.

_ agnes, there’s no need for that. i see your heart, i see your intentions. you wish to do good with what little you have. i can help you. _

Agnes stopped, turning to face the being. They had moved to the bed, affecting what could only be described as a comfortable sprawl. Agnes couldn’t focus on them too closely, or they would shift and be gone again, awash in nothing but a golden glow.

_ i am here with a proposition. it has been a long time since a human with the propensity for prophecy has shown themselves, and i find i am in need of someone with your potential. _

“Potential? Aye, but none of my prophecies have ever rang true.”

_ not yet, they haven’t. but I can see all that is, was, and will be — and i need you to help me, i need a messenger, here on Earth. i need you to write a book. _

“A book?”

_ yes, and your reward and that of your descendants will be great, and plenty. they will live out all of their days in comfort, be provided for. i know you worry, about the fate of things, and the fate of yourself. but hear me now, agnes, i can give you the gift of prophecy. you need only come and take it from me. _

As if pulled by the strings of fate, Agnes crossed the cottage over to the bed. The being seemed to be sitting on the edge, at any rate the golden glow has shifted in that direction. The arm like concentrations of light reached for her, taking Agnes’s hands in theirs.

_ come to me, agnes, do this for me? _

There was a lilt in the voice, the whisper of wind, that Agnes was familiar with. She’d heard it leveled at her from the boys in town, in their low whistling when she would pass them by. But this felt… safe. The being’s hand on the side of her face was like the summer sun, warm and welcoming as they tipped what Agnes assumed to be their face up and pressed it to her lips. A bright heat suffused through her as the being pulled her backwards.

A white hot heat burned everywhere her body pressed to the being’s; a flame that lit up every bit of her. Her enthusiastic guest twined golden light through Agnes’ fingers, pulling them down lower and lower.

_ receive your gift, agnes.  _ The Lord Almighty said.

“Yes,” Agnes replied.

It was like pushing her fingers through charred embers, a burn and sizzle that should have been painful, but was not. The Lord writhed beneath her, glow bright in one moment and darker the next. The walls of the cottage shook, the chimes rang out a cacophony. A wild wind whipped through the room as Agnes pushed harder and deeper, at the behest of the Lord Themselves.

Her charts and papers were a flurry around them, the room felt caught in a tornado as her guest drank from her lips, poured that sunshine warmth onto her tongue and over her fingers. At the last, a flash bang, a great blinding light with a scream carried on bells and grackle calls and rustling of leaves.

When Agnes came to, the being was gone. The cottage looked normal, not a thing out of place. Everything as she left it the night before. She rubbed her eyes, thinking it all just a dream, before seeing a vision with stunning clarity. As though the scene were being played out right in front of her.

She ran to her table and her parchments, grabbed one and a quill, and started to write.

“In December 1980, an Apple shall arise that no man can eat…”


	4. Animalistic Outer Coating - Micheal/Ligur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 4 - Animalistic Outer Coating - Michael/Ligur  
> Summary:  
> She remembers before, but that isn't how it is anymore.  
> Tags: Vaginal Sex, Ligur has color changing scales and Michael thinks it's pretty, Angst.

Michael’s back arches as she sinks back down again. Ligur’s cock is thick, fills her up just like she likes. His hands grip her hips, but she sets the pace. She likes to be on top, in control.

She likes to pretend she’s in control. 

They meet up for this when it all gets too loud, when the noise of Heaven and the stench of Hell pull at them and grate against their skin. They’ll meet somewhere in the middle, set it up through their back channels. Somewhere on Earth, somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Just a small stolen stretch of time; it’s all she can have.

She remembers before; when everyone was still in Heaven. When Hell didn’t exist yet. Kaleidoscope eyes. Iridescent wings, every color of the spectrum depending on how they caught the light. She remembers her hand in his, the softness of his kiss, the way he loved her.

That’s not who he is anymore.

Now he’s this, and she’s the one responsible. His lips capture one of her nipples, already stiff in the cold hotel room. She rakes her nails across his scalp as he growls against her skin, gripping her tighter, claws digging in. 

Ligur has patches of scales on his bare skin, a color wheel that betrays his every emotion. They correspond to how his eyes used to do. She never sees red, not anymore. Red of roses, of the heart, of the deepest and darkest passions and above that — of love. Those colors don’t turn in his eyes, don’t paint his skin, not anymore. Not after those days.

His hands coast lower, cup her ass, spread her wider. Every down-thrust pushes him against her g-spot, makes her gasp. Michael’s hands move to grip the headboard, more leverage to fuck herself harder and faster. To fuck the memories away.

She falters when she sees it, the patches near his temples shimmering in orange and pink. Shifting in and out and growing deeper and deeper until finally, a bright crimson. She stops moving, gently caressing those scales, remembering when those colors painted his wings. Remembers when they had each other like this, up in the clouds and among the stars. The push and the pull, the love and the release.

They had it all back then, they lost it all too.

“What is it?” He asks, full of bite and bile and everything a demon should be. But his eyes glow red, so do his scales.

And what could she say? I love you? I miss you? I want this to be us again? Archangels do not love demons, and demons cannot love at all. But it’s there, clear as day. Red.

She leans in and kisses him. They don’t kiss, not during this, they never have. It’s too close to how it used to be, she’s always steadfastly refused. It’s not more than a gentle brush of lips, a whisper of an intention. Ligur answers hungrily, crashing their lips back together. His tongue presses at the seam of her mouth and she lets him in. Lets him devour her.

His hand finds the small of her back, pulls her to him tightly as he flips them over. She likes being on top, likes being in control.

But for this, now, she relinquishes it.

He fucks into her hard, rough but slow. Savoring. The roughness doesn’t surprise her. But his hand brushing her cheek does. The soft trail of his lips down her neck and to her breasts does. His finger coming to circle at her clit, to bring her over the edge before him, surprises her most of all. 

Michael shouts his name, fingernails digging into his back, into the scales she can feel there. Burning red, every patch on him. His temples, his elbows, his knees, and his back. And focused on her, eye to eye, bright and fiery red in his eyes.

“Come for me [].”

And he does, and they lie there entwined. He doesn’t mention that she used his old name, she prays he never does. They fuck three more times over the next two days before she takes her leave.

Gabriel asks her if she enjoyed her vacation.

She quips about how horrid Earth is, how dirty with all the humans running around.

But she thinks of a hotel, in the middle of nowhere. And she thinks of what she had, and what she can never have again.


End file.
